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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29882862">Earning Blessings</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/self_indulgent_authorship/pseuds/self_indulgent_authorship'>self_indulgent_authorship</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Everglades [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen, Other Characters Are Mentioned, Selectively Mute Link (Legend of Zelda), Zelda isn't perfect, cause that's Unrealistic babe</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-16 03:20:15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,803</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29882862</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/self_indulgent_authorship/pseuds/self_indulgent_authorship</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Memory One: Subdued Ceremony</p>
<p>(or rather, my take on it)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Link &amp; Zelda (Legend of Zelda)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Everglades [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2197092</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>34</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Earning Blessings</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I have minor beef with the memories of BoTW, so this is another example of me taking the memory and expanding it a bit as I see fit.</p>
<p>Anyway, enjoy :)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The sun was high, sky insultingly clear of clouds. A soft breeze was rustling the wildgrasses and flapping the flags, their tassels occasionally pinging off the metal poles they hung from. Across the field, where there were no structures and the road curved away, a few deer were wandering past, and the sounds of many smaller animals were audible as well. Castle Town was quiet, little sound escaping from its great gates beyond the occasional roll of a cart or a few wisps of conversation. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It all contributed to a sense of calm utterly contrary to the storm of feelings churning in her chest and the discomfort layered atop it. The dress was heavy, restrictive, and utterly ridiculous. The high collar and long, thick sleeves did nothing to ease the heat of the sun bearing down on her, too intense for this kind of overdressing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And yet, here she was. Forced into this monstrous dress, out of the seclusion of her research tower, and into Hyrule Field. All so her father could use her like a good little Princess, blessing knights and gaining godly powers. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But that was unfair, she supposed. This had not been her father’s idea...it had actually been Lord Daruk who had suggested it. She would not have thought him an avid reader, but he had apparently read of this ceremony in the Royal Library. He had been so earnest in his request that she could find no good way to refuse him of it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then her father had heard of their conversation and all but demanded the ceremony be carried out. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Champions had only just been named a few days ago. </span>
  <em>
    <span>That </span>
  </em>
  <span>ceremony was little bother to her; it was so brief, and required little of her beyond a nod of the head and a few moments of mingling with the Champions after the fact at the celebration. She had remained close to Urbosa for the most part, though she had a decent enough conversation with the others about the Sheikah Slate.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She had thought that her participation (and the looming journey to the Spring of Courage) would be enough to keep her father’s attention elsewhere for a little while. Impa and Purah were at the Castle currently, and they had brought with them several of the smaller machines they discovered. She was desperate for a look at them, and to speak with Purah more about the possible functions of the Sheikah Slate. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But it was not to be. Her father demanded she hold this ceremony, and it was too late now to stop it (even if she could). The Champions had already gathered at the Sacred Grounds, she was already dressed, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>he </span>
  </em>
  <span>was no doubt waiting.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She tried to summon up some of that—that </span>
  <em>
    <span>ease </span>
  </em>
  <span>which her mother had always shown. She couldn’t remember many ceremonies with her mother, but she had clung to her skirts during a few of them. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mother had always been so...poised. Even if it was only the usual ceremonies in the spring, Mother treated them all as if they were the most important of moments, all of her keen attention and care going into every piece of them. She was so confident that nothing—not even those court people who did nothing but simper and fawn—nothing ever touched her, nothing bothered her. At least not visibly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“We must show kindness, Little Bird,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>her mother told her once, after she had pouted her way through meeting some mean old men her father knew. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“The people look to us—and they almost always mean well. We must be kind to them, and know that very often, they lead lives more difficult than our own.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“But Mama—” </span>
  </em>
  <span>she remembered complaining, hiding her face in her mother’s skirts to avoid staring eyes. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“I don’t want to talk to them. I want to read my books, not—not—”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Come now, Zelda,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>her mother had hushed her. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“You have your duties, just as I do, just as your father does. Do not frown at me so. Pouting only makes one feel worse about an unchangeable situation.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She wished such words were a comfort rather than a burden, as many of her other memories of Mother were. But now, all she could think of was the unfairness her life had become since Mother died. Years of training, of prayer and fasting, of ceremony after ceremony, begging to gods ancient and new, begging, </span>
  <em>
    <span>pleading </span>
  </em>
  <span>for the power to come to her. Yet, nothing. Not so much as a whisper of reassurance. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And now she was expected to play show pony for this </span>
  <em>
    <span>boy </span>
  </em>
  <span>who had appeared as if from nowhere, sword already in hand, blank faced and immune to all conversation—</span>
  <em>
    <span>staring, always staring. </span>
  </em>
  <span>What had he done to earn the respect of the other Champions? What had he done to earn her father’s attention? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>What had he done to curry the favor of the goddesses? </span>
  <em>
    <span>What did he have that she did not?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Somewhere in the nearby trees, a bird cawed loudly, and she was jarred from her steadily darkening thoughts. She looked around for a moment, thankful that no one was on the road at the moment, before quickening her step to join the party she could see forming at the entrance to the Sacred Grounds. Her shoes clacked terribly on the stones, and the train of her gown was surely dragging in the dirt, but she did not—could not—care. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Urbosa was the first to catch sight of her, and she paused to wait, one hand on her hip and a hint of a smile to her lips. She tried to take it as encouragement. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I wondered what had caught your attention,” Urbosa said, not quite softly, but quiet enough that it was clear she meant the question mostly for her and not the others ahead. “Care to share?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not particularly,” she muttered, a bit out of breath as she caught up. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Thankfully, Urbosa did not push. “Perhaps later then, hm?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A nod was enough to end the brief exchange, and while the relief of escaping a potential interrogation was real, the eyes of all the others on her was no matching reprieve. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“There’s the Princess!” Daruk called, waving in his usual happiness. His beaming smile made it clear he saw none of the conflict in her eyes. “We were startin’ to think you were too busy to show!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sorry to keep you waiting,” she said, and even managed a bit of a strained smile. “I’m afraid I became distracted.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daruk waved her off, still grinning. “It’s too nice today to not get a bit distracted.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Revali scoffed and turned away, apparently finding the trees around the Sacred Grounds more interesting than their conversation. Mipha watched him curiously, but no one said anything. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Now that we’re all here,” Urbosa cut in before any more tension could rise. “I think it would be best for us to get started.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sure,” Daruk agreed with a shrug, then looked around. “Where’d the little guy get to?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Link is already in the Grounds,” Mipha piped up, her voice much softer than any of theirs. “I believe he said something about examining the symbols in the stone…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her brow furrowed, and she squinted toward the Grounds, catching a brief glimpse of a bright blue tunic and sandy blond hair before she looked away. “Well. Let’s join him, then.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Before anyone could offer any more comments, she took the path and led the way into the Sacred Grounds. Behind her, she could hear the quiet conversation of the others as they walked, particularly Revali’s muttering. She ignored their little talks, forcing herself to focus on the moment, on what was directly in front of her and under her feet. Then, she would remain grounded in the now. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Unfortunately, this forced her attention on the </span>
  <em>
    <span>boy </span>
  </em>
  <span>who sat on the side steps of the Sacred Grounds’ main platform. He was facing Mabe Village, his elbows on his knees and hands hanging loose. The Sword was sheathed on his back, as it had been every scarce moment she had ever seen him. His expression was inscrutable in profile (not that it was much better head on, in her experience), all blankness and sharp, too knowing eyes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He turned the moment her shoes hit the smoother stones of the Sacred Grounds, his eyes snapping to hers almost instantaneously, and she nearly faltered, unsettled. There was something unnerving about his gaze, something too deep and utterly incomprehensible. It felt as if he were picking her apart just by looking at her, dissecting her to tiny, painful pieces and finding her lacking. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She frowned and looked away, holding her chin a bit higher as she went up the steps and into the circle of the Triforce. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him push smoothly to his feet, the Sword clinking in its sheath. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If...the four of you could stand there,” she began, clearing her throat and pointing to the outer edge of the circle. “You’re more witnesses than participants…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They passed her as they followed her instructions, Revali still muttering and Daruk still grinning. Urbosa gave her an encouraging nod (her eyes were too soft for it to mean anything else) and Mipha even managed a kind smile. She found she could not quite return it, but she appreciated the effort all the same. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He </span>
  </em>
  <span>lingered at the edge of the circle, watching the others and saying nothing, </span>
  <em>
    <span>as always. </span>
  </em>
  <span>She waited for the others to choose their places on the outside of the circle, then reluctantly turned to him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re to kneel here, at the center,” she said, the quality of her voice changing in spite of her best efforts to remain cool, collected. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He nodded slightly to her, though his expression remained unchanged. Silently—eerily so—he moved around her and knelt in the center of the three triangles, resting one arm on his bent knee and bowing his head. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Silence fell then, and whether or not she imagined it, the world seemed to narrow to just her, staring down at him as she stood in one of the most sacred places in all of Hyrule, officiating a ceremony meant to acknowledge his role in the destructive future awaiting them. The unfairness, the injustice, the </span>
  <em>
    <span>stupidity </span>
  </em>
  <span>of it all fell upon her then, and she could not possibly hide the frown which overtook her expression. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Weeks ago, as she had been journeying all across Hyrule to find and request the aid of Hyrule’s finest warriors, her father had sent her a message saying he had been in contact with the one who held the Sword. Only later would she learn that he had held the blade for years—nearly as long as she herself had been training. He was a knight from a long line of knights, a Royal Guard since he was younger than she was now, and the best swordsman in Hyrule writ large. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Prior to the Champions’ ceremony, she had seen him only once, in passing at the Castle. She had been coming from the library, having just been unceremoniously scolded from it by her father, and had made the mistake of passing the dining hall when it was occupied. To avoid the eyes of the nobles and advisors within, she had skirted around the hall like a common thief.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He had been tucked into one of the many alcoves of the hall, reading intently from a rolled up bit of paper which looked very much like a letter. She only noticed him as she darted past the alcove he was hidden in, glancing back in time to catch his eyes, already watching her as she went. The blankness of his expression had unnerved her, and despite having no clue who he was at the time, she was unsettled. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Seeing him again at the Champions’ ceremony had been something of a shock, then, particularly as she saw him in the tunic she herself had woven. He said nothing to her that day, not even in the hours after when there had been a grand celebration. The entire night he had spent lurking in the shadows or briefly near Mipha, stone faced and silent in spite of the raucous party around them. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In the days since—more so even than the weeks before—her father had talked endlessly about his skills and successes. How he had assisted in several skirmishes with monsters outside the Castle Walls, trained at Rauru and the Citadel, taken up the Sword at only eleven, made the rank of knight at thirteen, then Royal Guard at fifteen. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>All while she herself had nothing to show for </span>
  <em>
    <span>years </span>
  </em>
  <span>of prayer, training, and other tortures deemed necessary for her use as the goddess’s conduit. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Soon enough, her father’s praises had morphed to murmurs about assigning him to her guard detail, then as her appointed knight. Before she could protest, he had made it so, and in just two days, he would be accompanying her to the Spring of Courage. Her father had been so pleased he actually smiled. Never mind her own feelings on the subject. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She wanted nothing to do with him. Let him have his successes, his easy victories and fawning nobles. Let him have his cool indifference. Let him have it, as far from her as possible. Anywhere closer was too much to bear. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Princess?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daruk’s voice forced her from her dark thoughts once more, and she looked up to see his brow drawn low into a worried frown. Mirroring the look for a moment, she took a deep breath and brought herself back to the task at hand. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He had not looked up, despite the delay. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Of course he wouldn’t. He would never show such distraction, such weakness.</span>
  </em>
  <span> His head remained bowed, low enough that his face was obscured by his hair. Even if his expression did show any impatience—</span>
  <em>
    <span>if such a thing were even possible for him—</span>
  </em>
  <span>she would not be able to see it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She scowled, a twisted, fleeting thing, then brought her hand up, palm out toward his lowered head. The sooner she got through this foolish ceremony, the sooner she could escape his company, if only for a little while. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She tried for now not to think of their impending travel, nor the many things which his inescapable presence would take from her, nor the myriad of ways said presence made her feel small and off balance, raw like a just scraped knee. She tried to ignore the ugly feeling gnawing at her chest, the jealousy or hate or dislike that bubbled up in her heart when she heard of his great strengths or endless abilities. She put aside the petulant want to frown, to stamp her foot and demand her right to do as she pleased. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She tried to be like Mother. Calm. Collected. Regal and poised in every way. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hero of Hyrule…chosen by the Sword that Seals the Darkness…” Her voice sounded drawn, even to her. But she could not manage to bring any more presence to it. “You have shown unflinching bravery and skill in the face of darkness and adversity…” Her mouth twisted of its own accord. “And have proven yourself worthy...of the blessings of the Goddess Hylia…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her voice broke, then, audibly, and she needed a moment. The others were silent, watching. She took a deep, shaking breath, her hand quivering where she held it over him. Still, he did not move. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Whether skyward bound, adrift in the seas of time, or steeped in the glowing embers of twilight, the sacred blade is forever bound to the soul of the Hero.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Just as the powers were meant to be tied to her.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Another forced breath, voice trembling. “We pray for your protection...and we pray that—” The words escaped her, and she fumbled for a second. “That…the two of you will grow stronger together, as one…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This ceremony was pointless, painfully pointless. He needed no additional strength, no prayers to the Goddess, no protection beyond that which he could already provide for himself. He had received his place, had been given his power. What use were these words beyond a pain to herself? What point could this have beyond to point out her own inferiorities, her own inability to earn what was meant to be given to her?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Why should they honor him? Why had her father agreed to this, when every wish and request she had was denied in favor of prayer and training and useless pleas to a Goddess who would not hear her? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Again the inescapable question came to her, and she could not stamp it out no matter how she tried. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>What had </span>
  <em>
    <span>he</span>
  </em>
  <span> done that she had not? </span>
</p>
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